


the sorcerer atop the sanctum

by StrangerInAStrangeLand



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Survivor Guilt, wongrange if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25912036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/pseuds/StrangerInAStrangeLand
Summary: In the dead of night, Wong is compelled to visit the New York Sanctum for some inexplicable reason. To his surprise, he finds Stephen Strange atop the building, staring at the ground with a blank smile.
Relationships: Stephen Strange & Wong
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	the sorcerer atop the sanctum

**Author's Note:**

> fuck it its 1:13 am im a sad bitch so have a sad fic 
> 
> i had this draft sitting in my notes for a long time, so I decided to finally spruce it up and release it to the public. it's a short one, but i hope it's still good. hope you enjoy

"Why are you up here? It's the middle of the night."

Wong didn't know why he woke up in the middle of the night, nor did he understand the sudden urge to take a visit to the New York Sanctum. But when he saw Stephen Strange standing at the top of the roof staring down lifelessly at the ground with no cloak in sight, he immediately rushed to the ceiling.

Stephen said nothing. He barely turned around to acknowledge him. All he did was give a half-hearted chuckle.

"Please don't jump to conclusions, Wong,"

Normally, this would sound desperate. Normally, a sentence like this would be accompanied with tears. But Stephen was just so nonchalant with everything that he couldn't be lying.

And that's what freaked Wong out the most. Stephen was actually being sincere about...whatever this was.

"I just came to reflect," Stephen stated, peering up at the stars.

Wong raised an eyebrow. "At midnight?"

The sorcerer smiled to himself. "I love the nightly breeze on my face."

He closed his eyes as he took in the wind. Wong sighed, but did not take action. As long as he wasn't in danger of a threat (or himself), it wasn't like he could do anything. So he watched him. He studied him, trying to comprehend why he would be doing a random midnight reflection.

Wong was proficient in many subjects of the mystic arts. Astral projection, portals, relics, you name it. But the only subject he could never understand was Stephen Strange.

When the homeless man was first brought into the Kamar-Taj, disgruntled and disorganized, Wong believed he wouldn't last a week. He was selfish, arrogant, and just looked to be shaping into another Kaecilius. Using magic for personal desire instead of personal need was never a good idea.

He didn't expect the stubborn novice to suddenly bloom into a humble master. He didn't even know how long he'd spent fighting Dormammu...nor if he even fought the eldritch being one on one, but how else would he just go away like that?

That was when everything changed. That was when he saw a new man take up the mantle as the selfless Sorcerer Supreme. Well...perhaps a little _too_ selfless.

The amount of times Wong had been called in to patch up one of his wounds or to drag him to bed after a 3rd restless night made him wonder how in the Seven Depths of Hell was he still alive. Admittedly, he was selfless and responsible, which were always good qualities for a Master of the Mystic Arts to have. But it was the type of selflessness that disguised a mask of recklessness. A nature of protection for the world that he began to see through a new lens -- a desire to take care of the world, even if it was at the cost of his own life.

Wong didn't understand how this shift occurred or why his friend was so adamant to protect the world all of a sudden. But he couldn't complain. The least he could do was adapt to the change and help Stephen as much as he could.

Over time, he started to notice the signs of exhaustion. The symbols of overworking and overwhelming pain. And those symptoms seemed to be resurfacing tonight.

He noticed the bags under his eyes, the fatigue in his expression. It was all evidence of a man who cared about everything and everyone -- except himself. 

"Have you eaten anything today?"

Stephen shook his head.

"When was the last time you slept?"

Stephen shrugged his shoulders.

He was an enigma. In the morning he was a vibrant hero ready to face anything that dared to put the world in danger. Yet at night, he was almost a soulless husk of a man. A depressed, lonely person that hid his trauma behind a cloak.

Once he saw Stephen lean closer over the edge, he went to grab his body, only to be swatted away by the man himself. Both of their eyes peered at the pavement, knowing full well that even with healing spells at the ready, they would still suffer harshly if they were to fall.

He remained quiet, staring at the ground. His face was entirely blank, but Wong could decipher some sort of...pain in his eyes. Not physical pain -- he could recognize that instantly -- but an anguished pain. A pain that Stephen knew all too personally.

Guilt.

And like that, he finally spoke. A clear, concise statement escaped his lips like a signal flare.

_"There was no other way."_

So that was what this was all about.

It was the answer to his question. The end of a book. Suddenly, he understood everything.

Stephen was a guilty man, though he had no blood on his hands. His heart had yearned for a different way, a better way, a way where everyone could win. But he knew that wasn't possible. He knew he had to make some sort of sacrifices.

He kept glaring down below, imagining how the impact would feel if his body ever collided with the ground. The same wretched thoughts filled his head as he inched closer and closer off the edge. Would the Avengers even mourn his death, after he led them to sacrifice their most loyal members? Should anyone mourn the death of him, a cowardly murderer?

Instinctively, Wong wrapped his arms around his chest, pulling him into a deep hug.

"It's not your fault."

He said it quietly, barely above a whisper, and yet it seemed to pierce the sorcerer more than any microsurgery needle ever could. He could've sworn Stephen began to sob ever so slightly as he was carried back onto the roof.

He didn't think he'd actually jump off (the guilt of abandoning the world only slightly outweighed the guilt of sacrificing his teammates), but right now, he was in a moment of need. He was vulnerable, trying desperately to mask it with stoicism and apathy.

Now that mask was falling apart. 

He grabbed onto Wong's arms for dear, dear life. He dug his nails into his skin, clinging onto him to stay alive. Screwing his eyes tightly, he tried to ground himself in the moment, refusing to let himself go back to all those horrid, horrid timelines. 

"There was no other way," Stephen repeated like a broken record, letting the words flow out of his mouth desperately. He had said those words a long time ago. Even back then, he regretted what he meant. 

Wong stroked his hair, comforting him as if he were a crying child. He knew Stephen normally hated being pitied, but he also knew he was past his limits at this point. He need help, as little help as he would accept. And since Stephen didn't reject him, he continued to hold onto him, whispering reassurances into his ear. 

"You had no other choice, Stephen." 

The midnight ghosts of Greenwich Village would hear the sounds of a tired man breaking down in the arms of his friend that night. 


End file.
